Book it

In appeal to my hectic schedule, I introduce a literature circle (a fancy term for the nerdum; Book Club). Originally I thought it would be leverage for girl time, but in a tailspin it evolved into something meatier. The group has immensely grown involving not just women. I am excited to hear everyone’s perspective to the first read. The objective to this nerd forum is to hone my love for a good read.

In my junior year in high school, Mrs. Sabado quizzed us on the thought process of poets and writers. As an adolescent, deconstruction of literary pieces was moot. How dare I attempt to analyze the great minds of Homer, Byron, Carroll, Poe, Shelley, and Keats. I was just a mild acne waif invisible to her classmates. I guess that was the point to my teacher’s responsibility, trigger critical thinking, but at the time there were stronger forces in play like the furies of being a teenager. Decades later I circle that square, because here I am hosting my first deconstruction.

I picked up the book this past Tuesday. I have managed to wedge my reading to and from work with my head in the book. One must be very careful when reading and walking so as to not step into a tree or a building. Although I accomplished most of my reading on the stair machine on level eleven interval steps. I am that lonely geek on the cardio machine obliviously sopped with sweat, meanwhile enthralled by words, foreshadow, paragraphs, and similes.

Saturday is our first gathering to discuss Love in the Time of Cholera. I am excited to be among different levels of people discovering the different facets of the work. Mrs. Sabado’s face would be ablaze with joy, if she knew that she was the only teacher that harmonized my love for words.

This is Shellie claiming books are not the enemy back to you Bob at the studio.

Ham and Cheese

Shane was never one for holidays or birthdays. Christmas he would break into hives trying to find the ultimate gift. My birthday he hyperventilates as the lack of ideas trumped unruly on his existence. Simply put, celebrations pained ruthless on him. Celebrations were like taking a nice poison oak bubble bath; luxuriously painful. Today is Valentine’s Day 2008, the successful ad campaign for amateurs.

Shellie’s Proverb: Orchid that sits in a vase is short lived.

We awoke a little after four in the morning to Hunter screaming his tonsils out. Shane changed his diaper and wedged him between us on the bed. Chloe, attention deprived, jumped in the center of the family hug. Shane kissed Hunter’s head and I followed. Chloe vigorously wagged her tail resulting, Hunter to sit up and smile, laugh, and babble. Then he dove for Chloe’s tail as Chloe playfully licked Hunter’s cheeks like he was canine lollipop, “alright Chloe give it a rest.” I tried to diffuse the situation so I could selfishly get more snooze.

“This is the best. I could watch them all night. Who cares about sleep, my family’s right here.” Shane beautifully honest and I returned a grin that equated his content in the moment. Back on his back, Hunter’s eyes slowly glazed by the warm lullaby of his bottle.

Today is Valentines day and people scramble about in search for the perfect fluff and frill to say, “I love you,” albeit flowers, card, jewelry, and pre-fixed dinner. As Shane is always in pursuit of my happiness, little does he know that my heart—it lives in his happiness.

This is Shellie shot through the heart back to you Bob at the studio.

Will Work for Food

My month of no meat has come to an end. It wasn't the master cleanse, nonetheless, it was difficult. Although I have faltered a little throughout the month of January, I continue my stride towards eating healthy. Fresh, seasonal, and organic, I try my best to integrate a little more raw vegetables into our meal. Albeit, my husband would highly oppose as he would rather chew on gristle than have another meal consisting of seafood. For weeks now, he has been dreaming of a nice luscious medium rare rib eye bone in. Gasp, steak on my ever cinching waistline? How dareth thy foul words from thine sweet lips.

San Francisco has fed my fervor for food. With different fresh and new restaurants sprouting all over, it’s hard to not dig in. I have vowed to keep our dining down to zilch, I find myself making reservations at the new and upcoming restaurants such as Conduit, Laiola, Serpentine, Spruce. Worse off, I have my arsenal of repertoire: Ame, Bouchon, Range, Bar Tartine, Salt House, 1550 Hyde, and Boulettes Larder. I can’t help it. It’s like an addiction, “the need to feed.” I feel that by staying home, I’m missing out on the life’s culinary pleasures. The beauty in food is flourishing all over the bay area, and I can’t sit at home without labeling myself fifty one fifty.

“Worthless people live only to eat and drink; people of worth eat and drink to live.” –Socrates

One can not eat out every day, technically you could, but why? Once I entered culinary school, it pried my eyes wide open to the craft. I continued onto cooking restaurants, I quickly realized I didn’t know poop about food. As I was destined to move to France to further hone my ardor, marriage happened. Quel dommage! Until than, cooking is my therapy. If I’ve had a long arduous day, a normal person would start a warm bath. On the contrary, I spend a good one to two hours whipping up a three course meal for Shane. I immerse myself into a world of seasonal ingredients and simplicity. I slice, brunoise, mince as different sized pans sizzle, the oven is preheated, pots simmer, and the house gradually permeates my culinary orchestration. The pulse of our home is in the kitchen; of course the bedroom comes a very close second.

Enjoying the finished product is difficult when our dining table is collecting dust in our garage. My enjoyment is lulled when confined to eating on our couch. The evil and vile couch, because our nursery has replaced our dining room. There’s something beautiful enjoying a meal at a table. Preparing a meal together and sitting down at a table, enjoying it with loved ones makes for a remarkable experience. Substance. Thus, we have come full circle. Dining out should never be a sin.

“There are people in the world so hungry, that God cannot appear to them except in the form of bread.” Mahatma Ghandi

Nueve

“Da da da da da da da da dada da da…” Hunter repeated from his crib. His affinity for his first words quickly separated my husband and me. I was a little bitten, but I will get over it. Shane, of course, walks around the house repeating Hunter, “dadadada, “ laughing absurdly ecstatic like he just won the gold medal table tennis match. “Did you hear him? He said dada?” His chest wide, he paraded the living room with Hunter on his shoulders, “say it again Hunter boy, dadadada.” They both in sync, “dadadadadada,” I sat amazed at how such a small feat made me feel like I was sitting on top of the heavens.

Hunter is nine months today. Yes, our little runt is babbling like a maniac. He is sitting up and playing with his toys. Sure, he sometimes teeters over, but so do I. He is pulling himself up from the crib and scaring the shit out of me. Our crib setting has been dropped to the very bottom, yet Hunter seems focused on making the big escape from his crib by pulling himself up. He gets that from my side of the family. Diaper changing has become a difficult task as he is always trying to roll one over on me. So changing him after a good healthy poo takes a lot of agile and wit. I strategize by taking his attention to a new toy or a book while I attempt to quickly change his filthies. This morning he flipped on me so fast that he almost made a head dive off the changing table. By the way, the safety straps are useless at this point.

Mister Crawling McCrawler, isn't official, but he pulls himself forward with his arms. He's fast! He’ll get up on all fours wobble to and fro than flop back down on his stomach. Repeat. Let's just say that I can no longer leave him alone unless he is fenced in.


Dr. Treece says that he is “failing to thrive,” referring to his weight. He is sixteen pounds. I don't understand, because he eats alot. Many women would kill for his metabolism, but in baby world it’s not cool. He is constantly salivating, because his two bottom teeth are growing in. I wondered if his teething is contributing to his lack of weight gain. Sometimes, little man's gnawing on his hand like he was a zombie from Night of the Living Dead. To care for his gums I give him some homeopathic teething pills that instantly dissolve alongwith rubbing his gums with teething gel. If he develops a fever, than I drop it like it’s hot by dosing him with Tylenol. I believe that all babies grow at their own pace. I'm not worried about my little featherweight.

Speaking of food, my baby food processing days has come to a ceasing halt. It seems my darling boy prefers the store bought stuff. Traitor. I don’t mind except that it be organic and no sodium. Safeway has a great organic line and it’s cheap! Screw Whole Foods, Safeway’s organic line is the poo. I guess it’s just as well as it takes time off my hands and creates some space in our freezer.



As Chloe always fights to be the center of adoration, he and Chloe are creating a close bond every day. There’s nothing like Hunter’s growing interest in tugging on the white furry tail of our Bichon. Once a day, they sit nose to nose for a few seconds and than Hunter bursts into a chuckle. This goes repeatedly a few times, before I put a stop to it. You never know when our bichon may turn on Hunter. It’s like a bunny rabbit gone wild, but it could happen.

Stay tuned for his next month’s baby’s new trick report. Hopefully, he’ll be babbling “mama” and crawling like spider in heat.

This is Shellie and the rest of the Kitchens bidding you good “dadadadada day” back to you Bob at the studio!

Bottleless Pit

For months now, I’ve successfully managed to go through the day on a minimum of four to six hours of sleep. Lately, Hunter’s teething has got me up in all spurts of the night. Most of the time, I don’t mind as I don't get to see him during the day, any chance with him is all worth while. Recently, we have been awaken by his loud wail. A wail so loud that I am trained to pounce out of bed. Mostly, he just wants his plug back in his mouth or a bottle which I have all ready to go.

For the past five years, I’ve become this morning person. For instance, sleeping in past eight thirty in the morning is like struggling to do a hundred push ups. In turn, yours truly takes pride in sharing my morning with my loved ones.

“Hiya! Whatcha doin?”

“I knew it was you, only you would call before eight.” My sister incoherently tousled by the phone call, “you woke your neices you know.”

“Sorry, I just wanted to wish you a good morning! It’s a beautiful day out there, you should get up!” As I lay in bed comfy in my 2005 christmas pajamas with husband, Chloe, and Hunter, “alright, I’ll call you later go back to bed.” I giggled and made a mad dash dial for fellow victims. I pounced on friends that couldn’t see past ten o’clock in the morning. They never answered the phone which left me no choice, but to sing them one of my personalized jingles usually in the form of a seventies tune like Close to You by the Carpenters, “Why are you sleeping like a bear? Are you hung over? Do you care? Just like me, I long to be, up earleeeeeee. Click.” I would go on chorus over chorus until their voicemail cuts me off.

“Why do you do that?” My husband always shook his head in dismay.

“It’s funny.” I always shrug with delight.

On Saturday mornings, we’d go for an early work out at the gym or to the Ferry Building and hit the farmers market before the the late risers got there. Well, this particular Saturday I rushed the family out the door at eight to get to the farmers market. After a few weeks of over cast and wind chills, we were exhilirated to be up early on a beautiful sunny day. As Shane stood in line for a breakfast sandwich at Rose Pistola’s stand, I waited for a lushes cup of Blue Bottle coffee. Shane had Hunter in the stroller thus he began crying, I quickly went for the bottle in the diaper bag. My heart quickly shoved up my throat, the bottle was no where to be found. I quickly retraced my steps and realized I left the bottle on the counter when I opened the back door for Chloe. At this point, Hunter is wailing like his big toe’s been snapped off and he has thrown his yellow plug on the ground. Rats!

As I’m constantly grilling Shane to keep his diaper bag stocked, I wholeheartedly screwed up this one.

“I forgot his bottle.” I felt like a five year old that had wet her bed.

“Are you serious?” Shane was astounded, especially after my lecture on making sure we had a back up of everything in our diaper bag.

“Yes, I’m an idiot.” Still, I was determined to shop for tonight’s dinner party.

“I can drive back home and pick up a bottle. We can’t stay here with him like this.” Hunter’s wails began to disturb the peaceful shoppers that basked in the warmth with their coffee and breakfast.

“Stroll around and I’ll find you,” My quick resolution to defy the bottle.

“We can’t stay here without his bottle?” Shane threw me a look sharp as a five star ninja blade. He unstrapped Hunter from the stroller which instantly ended his battle cry, “Go shop, I’ll hold him.”

I wanted to stroll through every stall, but we didn’t know how long Hunter would last especially with his teething and the absence of his bottle. He was a ticking time bomb. “Shellie hurry up.” Shane shook his head as I patiently stood there tasting a bite of Alaska sprouts from the sprout vendor.

“Alright, alright. Let’s get some fish and hit the Wine Merchant than I’m done.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Shane liked it best when we had direction. Heck, I liked myself better too. We entered the Ferry Building into the mass of people. There were more early risers than expected. I quickly made a detour to the mushroom stand, I grabbed two varieties of shimeji mushrooms. Shane two stalls ahead held Hunter on his forearm like a football, witnessed my weakness. After purchasing a whole escolar we were almost done, we made our way to the wine shop. Shane a few steps ahead of me, I thought I’d sneak into Recchuttiti to see if they had any fresh marshmallows in today.

“What are you doing?”

I was busted. “Getting some marshmallows. I figured I’d get some for Valentines day for myself.” I grabbed for the quickest reason, but came up with a lie.

“I was going to get you some.” Shane always full of surprises, "now your not getting any this year."

“I wouldn’t want you driving here on Thursday. It'll be insane. I’ve saved you some time.” I smiled waiting to see if this lie could make it to the surface of common sense, “besides they’re always out.”

“Oh my god, I’ll meet you at the wine shop.” He saw straight through my fib.

We drove back home Hunter asleep. It was a close call. For it was my fault, because I removed the back up bottle yesterday, I thought the bag was to cumbersome for Shane. Shane grabbed my hand as I apologized for my inefficiency, “That’s okay honey, now you know that when I forgot something it’s not on purpose.”

This is Shellie discovering the many facets of being human back to you Bob at the studio!

Nanny Can

Nannies. San Francisco is a haven for them. The good ones are in high demand like the flawless cut. You see them everywhere pushing trendy strollers on the sidewalks of the neighborhoods of San Francisco. On a weekday, they travel in packs and meet at the playground guffawing about the parents outlandish demands. They come in all sorts of shapes and sizes: college graduate, teenager, elders, bilingual, no lingual. One could even set up a nanny share, if one is financially strapped. The options are endless. Some nannies run equivalent to a mortgage payment and that’s cheap. Some are blessed with the advantage of a bay area grandparent, we have a Mary. I know there are some haters out there. I can feel the pride strong bitterness, but to bitch his own.

As much as I wanted to stay home with my little precious, we decided back in September that we would move ahead with the plan. Mary, nanny extrodinnaire, is no exception. She came recommended by one of Angela’s client. She is a god send. I prefaced a spanish speaking nanny as it is vital that he is immersed in two different languages. From the second she sets foot in the house, she is in work mode. As she changes his diaper and gets him ready for the day, she sings nursery rhymes in Spanish. This ritual lasts a good fifteen minutes, because Hunter’s flipping over on all fours and causing havoc. She is even keel and patient. We interviewed a good amount of nannies, she was the only one that was genuine and trust worthy.

She takes him on walks in golden gate park or the zoo, singing class, reading time at the library. On top of her commitment to Hunter, she manages to keep our home stunning. Our home has never been so immaculate. Upon opening the front door to a beaming bathed baby and holding him in my arms, I observe an orderly home. His crib is neat, the kitchen is tidy, the bedrooms are spotless. Miraculously, our laundry is put away. I go to hang my coat in the closet and realize that each pair of shoes are lined up in orderly fashion. It’s insane.

I am grateful for Mary. She has made our house a home and has placed Hunter in the center of her universe. If I were a stay at home mom, I wouldn’t be able to pull it off. I could care for my child, but the housekeeping would be disastrous. After seven years, she finally made permanent U.S. citizenship and is in Columbia for two and a half months visiting her family. I have grown very fond of her and consider her a part of our family, in her absence she is greatly missed.

This is Shellie in her own orbit back to you Bob at the studio.

Adapt is Futile

Shane always had the freedom to do anything and the same for me. Recently, it just came to slap me in the face. Since the birth of Hunter, I made a point to establish the romance in our relationship, hence date night. As having a nanny has its benefits, alas it comes with a cost of a pretty shiny penny. We have many friends and family that have step forth to baby sit, but it is a delicate situation when it comes to last minute situations without coming off inconsiderate. Ideally, to enhance our marriage, I thought it important to introduce date night, which excluded Hunter, into our lives.

Early Friday evening as I lightly dust blush on my cheeks Shane mutters, “Oh Anthony says he won’t watch Hunter unless I go out with him after the movie.”

“Well I guess we’re not going out then.” Shane’s friend was newly dumped by his hot girlfriend of three years. I thought it be a good idea that Shane play wing man after our date night like laying in the path of a python.

I shlepped into my pajamas and plopped on the couch.

“What are you doing?”

“We’re staying home.” I browsed through five Netflix videos that collected dust for months. Staying home sounded welcoming, since the weather was dreary.

“Don’t be silly go get ready, he’ll be here soon.”

“No serious, we can stay home. Call the dogs off. Besides, I don’t want you going out with him after the movie. This is our night. I don’t mind.”

He huffed, “We’re going to the movies. Now go change.”

I hiked up the stairs and made a wardrobe change. I must admit I was slightly singed with the deal my babysitter had proposed. Doesn’t he have other friends? Rude.


“You know your husband’s coming out with me when you guys come back right?” The bull headed dumpster was absolute.

“I don’t think so?”

“Yes, he is.”

“Well, not unless you want us to get a divorce than sure he’s going out.”

“I had other things up my sleeve after our date.” How could one end a date without the assuming the biblical?

“No, he’s coming out with me. You guys don’t have sex anyway.” It was no surprise
why this person successfully fails flawlessly in his relationships, lack of perspective perhaps?

Shane remained quiet waiting for the decision.


No Country for Old Men was a smash, we had such a nice time together. I savored the richness of our time. We went to some restaurant and topped off the evening with a glass of champagne and some appetizers. The evening was early and to be a nice wife, as usual, I vowed to let Shane join the dumpee. I lay whole heartedly in the way of the sharp jagged fangs of disappointment.

Most women would put their foot down. I, on the other hand, put my husband’s happiness before my own. I allowed him to continue his lifestyle with no risk to responsibility or commitment to his family. Hence, my failure is my leniency.

Shellie’s Proverb: A pot of stew is no good without flame.
Meanwhile a couple hours later back at the cave, I had a text war with ex babysitter. I turbulently disposed my displaced anger on the dumpster, he shot back, “You’re overreacting, so what he saw you calling and he didn’t pick up,” it was apparent why he was brilliantly single, “blame your husband for coming out.” I stopped in my tracks. Subsequent to throwing his wing man under the bus, he is precisely right! Shane is gregarious and very well respected, but the idea of marriage and family hasn’t come to fruition. My calls went ignored which ensued the release of the ferocious beast from within. I made sure Shane came out bruised and scathed as I grappled with the dark idea of divorce. I couldn’t see straight at two thirty in the morning.

Mister Carr, Shane’s long time buddy, said it best, “Perhaps, this is something you pent up.” Brief and concise, he was grossly smug, but precisely correct!

Side bet: I would like to see any of his buddies pull off a Shane without being disembowled by their wives first. They're on lock down more than they precede.)

It was true. I held it all in. Was I submissive all this time? I am a fools’ fool. I allowed him to gad about on his many boy trips of football, golf, snowboarding, boy time with not a phone call to me.

I have prefaced my importance of these phone calls before, but I have gone days without a phone call. Days. I was always mild mannered, turning a blind eye. Any other, would have been butchered with a serrated knife. Instead I greet him with a hug. In essence, he never had to face the wrath of a woman’s worry. I bottled my anger so beautifully deep, that Friday night just blew the mother ship wide open. He nor I never saw it coming.

I thought our parameters were understood under the respects of consideration, but I was wrong. I never threw my arms around like a gorilla and battered him with threats and consequences. I could be a monster and put a stop to his fun. Why? That wouldn’t make me feel better and it wouldn’t contribute to a healthy marriage. I'm tired of playing the doormat. I bid death to the “cool” wife routine. He will quickly realize how good he had it. Aretha belt it out sister friend, "respect!"

In the end, I understand that marriage is an ever changing entity. Furthermore, a child plays an integral part to this anomaly called balance. In this day and age, dashing through a McDonald’s drive thru and getting a super size divorce seems convenient. I, on the other hand, choose to fight for love. Naturally, divorce scrambles through my brain, but love always prevails. Thus our loves deserves to bloom and a change is in order. How else would we grow closer, but to grow in change.

This is Shellie watering my backyard roots back to you Bob at the studio!